


Having

by CateAdams



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Conversations, M/M, OMS Challenge 2019, Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, T'hy'la, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:34:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21622267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CateAdams/pseuds/CateAdams
Summary: In the months after V'ger, Jim has everything he has ever wanted, but he is faced with overwhelming feelings and lurking fear that he has yet to face. After a crisis unfolds, a friend visits, and secrets are laid bare.Written for the OMS Challenge, 2019
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 9
Kudos: 102
Collections: Old Married Spirk





	Having

_The lights on this ship are too damn bright._

The man in the mirror’s reflection was frowning, the expression tracing the newer lines in his face perfectly. Jim Kirk shook his head sourly, lifting his chin as he contemplated the person staring back at him.

Age had certainly wandered here, as well as all the depths and heights of human emotion; in the past eight hours, the depths had certainly eclipsed those dizzying heights. His expression hardened as he breathed in and out, battling a looming sense of _alone_ that threatened the edges of his consciousness. Somewhere behind his command persona something fearful was crying out and before his countenance could betray it, Jim turned away to stare into his empty quarters.

He managed, for a handful of seconds, to see nothing but surfaces: familiar but cold objects, mementos holding transient meaning. And then his gaze fell upon a small, folded blanket at the foot of his bed. Incongruous amidst the bland greys of senior command quarters, its mingled deep red and green embroidery smoldered against the richness of tactile black weaving.

Jim’s hands reflexively clenched and he closed his eyes, thinking of incense and heat and the flickering light of the fire shrine that could transform this bland space into a private sanctuary, yearning for a beloved touch and a gentle presence that called to him and held him in their closely-guarded intimacy.

His door buzzer came as an unwelcome shock, awakening him into cold, sharp normalcy. Jim gathered himself, straightening his shoulders and tugging in vain at his wrinkled uniform.

“Come.”

He cleared his throat as the door slid open, as he turned to face duty again, turning his back to the blanket and all it represented.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Admiral,” Uhura said formally, stepping in just far enough to allow the entryway to automatically shut behind her.

“Not at all,” Jim replied. He forced a smile to his lips. “What can I do for you?”

“This won’t take long, sir,” she said, unusual intensity shading her words. “I’m sure you have to—.”

Jim raised a hand. “No,” he said, his false smile fading as ephemerally as it appeared. “I’ve just checked in with sickbay. There’s no change.”

Her expression abruptly tightened, and a dull pain in his chest threatened the return of difficult emotions.

“Shall we sit?” he asked, gesturing to the small couch and armchair adjacent to the near bulkhead.

She haltingly stepped over, settling herself and waiting for him to sit across from her. An awkward silence between them stretched above the faint basso thrum of the engines.

“You performed commendably,” Jim said, attempting to break the odd tension. “You helped save the lives of thousands of refugees.”

“Mr. Spock saved them by destroying that artifact,” Uhura stated perfunctorily. “I should have recognized that disordered frequency pulse for what it was. The situation never should have escalated to the point it did.” She leaned forward, her eyes imploring. “I came here to tell you—.” She broke off and shook her head slightly before trying again. “I’m sorry. I should have done more. I came here to tell you—.”

Her voice faltered again, uncharacteristically, and Jim frowned, feeling unexpectedly light-headed. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Uhura.”

“Jim,” she said forcefully, “your bondmate wanted—. He felt—.” She paused again, this time at the change in his expression.

His breath had left him. Their status as _telsu_ was known to no one save themselves. Uhura had served with him on one five-year mission, and now for four months into the second and she had never before called him other than his service honorifics.

But, eight hours previous she had held his bondmate in her arms as the survivors of the away team materialized on the transporter pads, Spock’s mind burning from the concentrated malevolence of a sentient alien weapon and green blood pooling hot beneath both of them. Jim lowered his head into his hands, remembering seeing the Vulcan’s grip tight around Uhura’s bare wrist even as Spock had faded to unconsciousness. _Touch telepathy. She had shared what he felt._

He heard her lean forward. “Jim,” she prompted gently.

He finally glanced up at her, wearily. “You were able to sense…all of it?”

“Not all of it.”

Jim slumped back into his chair. “Enough, though.” He rubbed his hands over his eyes and pushed himself to his feet.

Uhura remained seated, watching him pace. “No one else knows,” she offered quietly.

It was hardly an accusation, but Jim shook his head anyway, glancing at the folded blanket. “No one knows for certain,” he corrected. “Some things are particularly difficult to explain.”

“Love often is.”

At her words, he stopped, once more catching a glimpse of his face in the mirror and wincing at what he saw: burgeoning anguish now too close to the surface. “Given the requirements of the service, we can’t be seen to be—,” he began, his words disjointed as he tried to re-capture a semblance of implacability. “The perception of compromise is—.”

Uhura’s presence was constant, understanding, and Jim choked back ridiculous rationalizations.

“Our relationship—he and I—has always been _close_.” The admiral snorted delicately at the understatement. “Though, there had been a line we hadn’t crossed. We shared a mental connection: an intimacy that perhaps exceeded anything physical, but we’d never touched in that way.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest, frowning. “Nevertheless, it’s been implied and insinuated by people, superior officers, even, trying to damage our professional reputations. It’s been gossiped and joked about, but it hasn’t been the full truth until he came back from Vulcan.”

She merely nodded, appearing thoughtful.

“And this is the first time he’s been injured,” Jim jerked his chin in the general direction of sickbay, “since V’ger. Since we finally crossed…that line.” The sardonic euphemism rang hollowly, and Jim’s voice softened, amending, “Since we became _telsu_.”

She tilted her head, her dark eyes curious. “Mr. Spock has another word for it; one that I’d never heard. His mind called it over and over. It felt like—.”

Jim exhaled. “ _T’hy’la_.”

“Yes.” Her voice was reverent.

“It is…that word is more appropriate.” He lowered himself into the armchair again, rubbing his forehead with one hand. Silence stretched again, but this time held no tension.

“I can’t feel him.” Jim startled himself with the blurted admission, cradling his head with his hand. Thoughts, jumbled and impassioned, poured through his mind: thoughts he couldn’t bring himself to enunciate, couldn’t begin to explain. This strange mental silence, the result of necessary healing, was too much like what had happened when Spock had left before: the gentle perception of his dearest friend and would-be lover stopping abruptly, leaving the ashes of anger, grief, and desperation behind. And now, _now_ that he knew what they could be together. Now that he knew what his beloved tasted like and how he moved in the throes of desire; now that he had felt the ecstasy of their minds together, their bodies together. Now that he knew the completion and the joy, the heat and the closeness. Now that the longing had finally stopped, _now_ …!

“I can’t feel him,” he repeated brokenly.

A gentle hand, human-cool, rested atop the fist gripped tightly in his lap.

“Go to him, Jim.”

He gazed at her, now kneeling in front of him, her fingers pressing tighter against his.

“Go to him,” she said fervently, “and damn the perception of it all. You acknowledged the gossip and innuendo of strangers, but you forgot the pride and the loyalty of your crew.”

He lowered his other hand to cover hers.

“Honestly, Admiral, more notice would be taken if you _weren’t_ at his bedside.”

He let out a puff of surprise, conceding, “That may be true.”

“Of course.” Uhura stood, tugging gently but firmly at his hand. “On your way.”

But he hesitated, gazing up at her.

“You’re afraid,” she whispered.

There was no question in her words, only calm certainty, and Jim closed his eyes, his carefully professional composure collapsing as he recalled those seconds of psionic transference between this woman and his bondmate. Uhura could understand the depth of what he faced; she already knew what he was so reluctant to admit.

“I am,” he murmured finally, pulling his hand away. “I’m afraid of having this. Of having him. And I’m afraid of losing him.” He frowned. “Ever since he left, the two seem like one and the same.”

Uhura’s eyes softened, tears welling. “He cherishes you, Jim, truly and completely. I know you can’t feel him right now, and that all the prejudices of the present and all the sins of the past are standing between you.” Her cheeks were wet now. “Please don’t let anything stand between you.”

Jim heard himself make a choked noise.

“Go to him,” she insisted.

He nodded silently, pushing himself to his feet, somehow finding the softness of the neatly folded blanket in his hands as he walked to the door, ignoring the mirror’s selfish reflection as he passed in favor of a nod of gratitude to his friend. Jim thought again of incense and heat and a gentle, beloved presence, resolving that discretion and duty could exist with courage and comfort and that simple belief in each other outweighed anything that had come before.

THE END

I do not own Star Trek and make no money from this.


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